


hello, angel.

by mihkrokosmos



Series: you know it all, you’re my best friend. [3]
Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: Angst, Gentle, Insecurity, M/M, Present Tense, as always, but ur battery drains quickly, i was listening to lorde and conan gray so that should explain it all, lapslock, like it isn’t fluffy but it’s still soft, oddly nostalgic, sometimes u just need to recharge, that made no sense, u are a phone, unbetaed, unedited, useful and rly cool, weird pacing ig
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-12
Updated: 2019-08-12
Packaged: 2020-08-20 00:08:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20218531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mihkrokosmos/pseuds/mihkrokosmos
Summary: streetlights illuminate the road. they know more than jisung does — they see more than he ever will. they know the way.jisung does not.(the stars will never love jisung back, but someone else will).





	hello, angel.

**Author's Note:**

> started this when i was staring at the stars and realised i hadn’t seen them in a very long time. i wasn’t planning on finishing it (or adding it to a series i thought i had finished) but someone told me i should work on something small if i needed a break. they were right. 
> 
> (title comes from ‘heaven’ by exo).

they fight a lot more, now that they are an established  _ thing _ . it unnerves jisung, just how many topics cause friction between them. yet, in a way, he is grateful. in the past, they would’ve shrunk away from the confrontation. they would sit in silence, letting the anger and the resentment fester until someone walked out. they don’t do that any more —  _ can’t  _ do that anymore — and, so, they address it. they talk it out. 

minho calls it  _ progress _ . jisung calls him  _ cliche _ . he doesn’t actually disagree with minho, and they are both fully aware of it. 

it may seem strange to contemplate the nature of their arguments when it’s so peaceful. fairy lights bathe jisung in a soft, pink glow. the plants on the windowsill are growing well; leaves dangle over the edge, brushing against the cream wall. the weather is just grazing against autumn, despite the fact that it’s the middle of november.

they didn’t want to move in together, but it’s cheaper than two places when they were always with each other anyway. the apartment is nice, jisung will readily admit, it’s cosy and the heating works when it’s supposed to. you could get so much worse with a measly budget such as theirs. so, hmm, they were lucky. they  _ are  _ lucky. 

jisung sighs.

his hair has grown long, a blond disaster perched atop his head. he misses the blue, a little, but hyunjin called him a blueberry and that was just… illegal. so, he bleached it and minho said he looked like trouble. 

it’s been blond for a while. 

ah, he’s digressing. the thing is, minho and jisung, they fight because they talk. they don’t just get up and walk out with nothing to say about it. it’s not their thing. but, well, minho has just done exactly that. jisung… jisung isn’t quite sure what to do about it.

he aches to call him and yell at him for being a fucking idiot, but he doesn’t. his fingers twitch towards ( <strike> _ minho’s _ </strike> ) his bomber jacket, the urge to follow him overwhelming, but he doesn’t. it all boils down to the fact that  _ they hadn’t actually fought _ . minho had just… left. there was something about the sadness in his eyes before he’d gotten up which rattled jisung.

jisung doesn’t know. doesn’t know if he’s meant to give him space, meant to run after him, meant to just wait.  _ he doesn’t know _ . is he unnerved because he’s worried or because he has realised just how unsure he is? 

there are questions without answers. maybe minho will have them. maybe he won’t. 

jisung grabs the jacket and leaves, shutting the door on empty mugs and crumpled magazines. the light stays in the small apartment and jisung walks in the dark.

  
  


he isn’t really aware of what he’s doing, honestly, but he gets a late bus and lets familiar sights in unfamiliar lighting soothe his nerves. the city is loud but their area is quiet, muted chaos lost in small side-streets and people who know each other without acknowledging a thing. there’s a woman with a baby a couple rows back, an elderly man smoking (despite the numerous ‘no smoking’ signs plastered everywhere), two girls who hold hands for no more than a second at a time. jisung doesn’t recognise these people, so he closes his eyes and waits for the right stop.

streetlights illuminate the road. they know more than jisung does — they see more than he ever will. they know the way.

jisung does not.

the bus slows, stops, somewhere just outside the city where the stars are clear and the grass unruly. uncut. it’s been ages since jisung has seen the stars so clearly — air pollution is an effective mask for the sky to wear — and the sight steals his breath.

jisung has always loved the stars. the stars will never love him back.

and, really, this was never about minho leaving. maybe it was about jisung, jisung’s uncertainty, jisung’s insecurity. he likes to think that the city and himself were… mutual friends. minho had always loved the city and jisung loved minho. minho tethered him to the bright lights and the busy metro and the drunk bastards who yelled at anyone dodging smashed beer bottles on a saturday night. it was minho who helped him adjust to sidestepping crushed coke cans on the way to squashed cafes. minho who taught jisung the intricacies of not losing your metrocard. minho found beauty in the unknown and jisung retracted into the comfort of things he recognised. minho, minho, minho. 

he feels himself move towards the top of the hill, long grass barely brushing his fingertips. there are flowers he cannot name, illuminated by the full moon and the hazy cloud of the city. he hears the bugs more than he sees them — probably for the best — and everything sways in the breeze, including jisung. he trips, falls, lands with his back against the hillside and eyes on the stars.

the soft breath which escapes him is barely audible against the rustling of leaves.

he takes out his phone, just in time, because it’s lighting up with a call from minho. the contact photo is a candid one, sunlight streaming across minho’s sleeping form. his lips are tugged down in a little pout, hair a complete disaster. 

“i love you,” minho says, except his actual words are ‘hi, jisung’.

“i love you, too,” jisung replies, except he actually says ‘hey, be back soon.’

“i know,” minho says, and there’s no underlying meaning because those are his exact words.

jisung ends the call. 

the stars will never love him back. it’s okay, because they are not supposed to and jisung doesn’t expect them to. some things are distant, out of his reach, and they will stay like that. 

minho is back at the apartment, one bus trip away. he didn’t explain his disappearance and jisung didn’t explain his. they will, someday, but jisung has another bus to catch.

the stars will never love him back, but minho will. 

**Author's Note:**

> twitter: gayleeknow   
remember to recharge yourself. love you.


End file.
